I was going to post a  blog, but Liza needed a diaper change; no delay.  I was going to post a blog, but Georgia barked at metro who whined at the door for the UPS driver’s cookie treats and woke up the kids.  I was going to post, but my own voice depressed me.  I was going to post, but my sister stopped by and we had tea and a sweet adult conversation for a few minutes.  It is her birthday.  I was going to post a blog, talk to my imaginary friends, but the toilet was being flushed repeatedly until only air bubbles gurgled and then emitted a groan, making sissy cry. I was going to blog, but you had the idea to go get his electric box slug collection over at the worksite.  It was 9 pm. I was going to post a blog, but Liza took off all her clothes and diaper for the third time and her feet were turning purple on the bare floor. I was going to post, but needed to stop for a quick pee, found the black stallion in the toilet but I couldn’t stop to get it first, its legs sticking straight up; kinda scary. I was going to post but in this light, I noticed a smear of boogies on my black shirt, and remembered I’d seen the same smear two days ago.  I took a shower and changed my clothes instead.  I was going to post to my blog, but had to lay flat and stretch instead.  My back aches, but has little pain.  I was going to post, but the warming milk boiled over and crusted over the pan, the burner and the stove top.

I was going to have sex, kissing and smoothing back our sweaty hair from our foreheads, smiling and slippery, kissing again and falling asleep, but decided to post a blog.

The black stallion has been rescued from the toilet six times, the trash has to be checked each time we dump it for keys, my wallet, pens, sox, skivies, and once a spoon and bowl.  I can’t even think about what I have already unknowingly sent to the dump.  The bathroom door was open, Liza heading that way and  you scream for me to build with you.

I was going to keep blogging, but I promised to play with you.  First, the little black horse, again.  I used to worry that its fragile legs might break leaving sharp edges.  No more. Maybe if he scratches you, he’ll be safe from your science experiment.  (or is it a social science experiment with me the subject?) Hey,  let’s build a barn with a locked door to contain that wild horse.    Here I come. gma